


Death is the Road to Awe

by IMtrinity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comfort/Angst, Gen, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMtrinity/pseuds/IMtrinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning there was darkness. Then the angel brought him light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death is the Road to Awe

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for Season 4 and 5. Title borrowed from The Fountain soundtrack. Reviews always appreciated!

The angel is always there now. He knows it’s an angel because he can see its wings. _His_ wings. They don’t hurt his eyes like in the beginning. Even now he is bright and almost shapeless, save for the unmistakable silhouette of massive wings, tips aglow with the brightest light. He’s used to it now. It’s almost comforting.

The being never approaches, always hovering in the distance, always there, but Dean never feels threatened, nor lonely.

Dean.

His name is Dean. It comes in a flash, the sudden, painful spark of remembrance. He nearly keels over, his head on fire. It passes as quickly as it arrives and he looks up at his ever present guardian angel and gives him what he hopes is a pleading look. He has a name now, but everything is a giant blur. It feels like he’s been here for months, wandering aimlessly, without a name.

Now that he has one, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

***

It’s never dark here but at times when he tires of looking at his angel, his mind would wander and only shadows appear. They are formless, angry things. He doesn’t like those moments. He doesn’t like what he can’t even remember.

Time is endless here. He doesn’t tire so he never sleeps and he never feels hunger. He walks a lot but he never has a destination. Before there was nothing in the void. Just darkness and silence. Then his angel appeared with light.

Now there is green under his feet. It is soft and pleasant and comfortable to lie on. The green is as endless as the dark used to be.

***

Just as his own name came to him, so does another familiar word.

Sam.

Not a word. A name. One he feels intimately even though he cannot remember anything more. He’s crying before he knows it, the pain extreme and debilitating. He sits on the green for a while and weeps for a faceless name.

When he looks up it is impossibly bright. He blinks the water from his vision to find his angel closer to him than ever before. He doesn’t breathe as he stares ahead, the glowing light soothing his nerves and calming his aching heart.

He focuses on the shape of the angel, now more apparent. He can clearly make out a form that resembles his own; male, somewhat tall. He cannot make out his face at all, nor his attire. The massive wings protruding from his body are even bigger than he imagined, eclipsing his body and everything around him.

Dean is entranced.

The light fades gradually as the angel retreats slightly. Dean is on his feet in a blink.

“Don’t!”

It’s the first time he’s spoken to the angel. He’s startled to hear his own voice after so long. He didn’t even know he could speak. But apparently he’s said the correct thing as the angel pauses, cocking his head slightly. Dean releases the breath he doesn’t even know he is holding. The angel stays put, neither approaching nor retreating.

Dean is pleased.

***

He walks without tiring. He likes walking. One day, not so different from the countless others he’s experienced, another thought comes to him that stills his feet mid-step. It comes in flashes and colors and is followed by pain.

He’s on the ground in a flash, curled up in a ball as his mind is battered and his body spasms helplessly. Sharp pain in his back, like someone ripping a limb from his body, and red everywhere.

Blood. So much blood. Red and black as night. Blood everywhere. All over him, under his feet, as far as his eyes can see. Something terrible had happened once. In another place where time had meaning.

Faceless shapes surrounding him as weapons clash and storms rage overheard. It’s hectic and frantic and horrifying. Dean’s clenching his jaw so tight it stings his eyes. When the images and pain pass he chokes out a relieved sigh, almost a sob in its intensity. He stays in the curled up position for a long time.

He wants to hold on to those images, because he needs to remember. He wants to remember. But it hurts too much. His head aches uselessly and the images slowly fade away to nothing. He can’t hold on to them.

He sits up, props his knees to his chest. His fingers pick at the green he’s sitting on. Grass. It comes to him just like that and the word sticks. He plucks at the grass, bringing the broken blades to his nose. The scent is pleasant and familiar. He doesn’t know how but he knows he’s seen grass before.

He stands up finally, turning his head towards the swirling light. Once again it calms him until he is able to start walking again. He sends a silent thank you to the light as his feet plow through the green grass.

***

He finds himself thinking more about the angel. His presence is soothing, and so familiar, but he doesn’t know why and from when. He sometimes stares into the blinding light, hoping for a revelation but is always left frustrated. He wonders why the angel stays so far away.

Is Dean dangerous? He doesn’t feel that he is, but he wonders if there is something about him that keeps the angel away. He pauses in his walk one day to ask.

“Why do you not come closer?” His voice is raspy, unused.

The angel startles at the sound, light swirling madly around his frame. Dean does not mean to upset him, or worse, make him leave. He puts his hands up. “It’s fine. You don’t have to. Some company would be nice, though.”

He turns and resumes his walk. The angel follows, vigilantly.

***

The grass ends one day, as his feet falter over the new sensation under his feet. Tiny grains of light and dust that slither through his fingers as he bends to scoop some up. Millions, billions of granules, as far as the eye can see. Light in color and pleasant to the touch, like the grass. Dean looks behind him at the edge of the grass, then back to the...sand!

Eyes large in revelation he grins as he remembers the name of the new stuff under his feet. He swings his head to grin at the angel in his periphery, scooping more of the warm sand and watching in fascination as it easily filters through his fingers. He likes the sensation.

The sand is a vast oasis in front of him and he finds it difficult to walk through with his shoes. He looks down at his feet, idly wondering why he can remember the word for shoes or pants or hands, but not grass or sand or...anything else. He stops to remove his shoes and socks and his bare feet instantly sink into the warm sand with each step he takes.

There is now nothing but pale sand surrounding him, but he doesn’t mind. He takes a break from walking to sit peacefully in the sand, toes scrunching under the miniscule grains. He doesn’t feel tired. He doesn’t really feel anything. No. That’s not right, either. At first, and for as long as he’s been here--wherever here is-- he’s felt neither hunger nor pain, nor sadness or curiosity. Now, he does feel something.

Lonely.

As he sits in the sand, fingers digging trenches to pass the time, he once again thinks about how he got here. At first he sort of liked it. There was quiet, and serenity and even though he hadn’t known his own name, it didn’t bother him. It wasn’t until his dark world got lit up by the angel did he realize there might be more to the world around him than just...him.

He stares at the angel and he feels a pang of guilt squeezing at his heart. Fine one minute, in agony the next. Then the flashes start again. More colors, more red. Bad shadows and giant wings. Not the wings of his angel, no. But there are others, he realizes. Other beings with wings. He doesn’t feel relief at this new revelation, only panic.

He suddenly needs to remember this angel’s name. _His_ angel. It can be no other’s; he knows this as clear as he knows his own name. He lowers his head, closes his eyes. He tries to focus on the winged being that has been there for him since forever. Always there, always hovering, comforting, even from a distance. He should know his name!

His heart is beating wildly inside his chest, fistfuls of sand squeezed between his palms. He swallows, tries to relax his breathing. Eyes still shut, he begins a mantra.

“Dean. Sam. Dean. Sam. Dean and Sam and Dean and Sam and Cas and--” He shoots to his feet. He breathes the word again. “Cas…” No, he thinks, frowning. His eyes find the angel, majestic and bright.

“Castiel.” His chest aches, but this time, it’s from relief. He knows his angel’s name! It doesn’t matter that he can’t remember anything else. This is by far his most important moment to date.

“Castiel!” he screams across the vast oasis, excitement blooming in his voice. Suddenly, a blinding glow envelopes him, so bright he has to shield his eyes for once. The angel’s wings flare, tips alight with a fiery glow. It’s the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen.

“Castiel, I know you’re name! I remembered! Will you not come to me?” His voice carries and he stands still, waiting for the celestial being to make a move. At first, nothing happens and Castiel remains where he stands. Dean can’t help the sadness from overwhelming him then. All his time here he never knew the meaning but now he feels it, deeply.

Dejected, he moves to pick up his shoes and resume his walk. A wild wind picks up, blowing drifts of sand all over. Dean turns away but the sand settles in a flash. Frowning, he turns back, and finds himself gaping. The angel--Castiel--is standing a short distance away and this time Dean can make out the form he’s been admiring from afar.

It comes as a complete shock to see that Castiel is wearing clothing similar to his own. Dark pants and a light shirt, dark shoes. The only difference is the tan coat he wears, drifting blandly around his thighs, and the dark blue tie, Dean notices with an overwhelming sense of recognition.

Dean’s eyes roam up to Castiel’s face, noticing the blue eyes even from their current distance. The dark hair shifts slightly from the weak breeze constantly surrounding his frame. His expression is unreadable but Dean is so happy to finally come in proper contact with the angel he doesn’t even let that deter him. He smiles at the figure in wonder, eyes unable to take in all of the angel’s massive wings in his vision.

“Castiel,” he says, in greeting. The angel blinks, then offers a sigh that deflates the tension clearly surrounding him.

“Hello, Dean.”

The voice scrapes deliciously across Dean’s mind, imprinting it for all time. It fills him with warmth he never knew he was missing. So familiar. So important, but he can’t remember why.

He suddenly doesn’t know what to say to Castiel. What can he ask him? What might he know?

“Do you know where we are?”

Castiel doesn’t budge an inch as his eyes close off, tension building. Dean swallows, tries again.

“Why have you been following me?”

The angel licks his bottom lip, an oddly human gesture, or so Dean feels. “I did not wish for you to be alone.”

Every word stings because he has no memory of this being outside of this world and yet he feels like he’s spoken with him before, so many times. It physically hurts.

“Why can’t I remember anything? Why do I feel like I know you even though we’ve never met? What is this place and why am I here?” He feels bitter and angry and stifled all at once. He takes a step closer to Castiel, then another.

“Dean…” Castiel warns.

He stills, eyeing the angel despondently. “Who is Sam?”

This time, the reaction is instant. Castiel visibly flinches, eyes down. Dean watches him intently, curiosity growing. “Please tell me. I have nothing but that name. And now yours. What happened that I can’t remember?” he pleads. Castiel turns his back to Dean, but doesn’t leave. His voice is just as clear. “Do not ask me, Dean. It won’t do you any good. In time, perhaps..” he trails off.

Dean is angry, frustrated. It feels a lifetime that he’s been here and now he can’t seek out the answers he knows he needs. But he also knows that storming Castiel with questions won’t help either. He needs to cool down.

He turns, seething, and resumes his walking.

***

It never bothered him before, the emptiness, the vastness. Now, with Castiel hovering nearby and his feet plodding through the sand endlessly, he wonders what the point of it all is. Surely there has to be more than this ceaseless existence. He doesn’t voice his thoughts, though. He knows he’ll only be ignored.

He dropped his shoes a while back. What’s the point of shoes in a place like this anyway? Again, he never questioned his world before. Now, he contemplates it frequently. Why does he have no memory of anything? Where is he now? Who is Sam? And why does an angel attach to him so faithfully?

With every new question, a part of his mind opens up. Emotions swell and reign. When before there was just acceptance, now there is anger and bitterness and curiosity. There is awe every time he looks at Castiel. Sadness, when he dwells too much on the melancholy look on the angel’s face. It feels impolite to pry so he says nothing and moves forward, one step at a time.

***

There is a new sense in the air. It’s unique and remarkably familiar, though he can’t place it until he sees it. Like the grass before it, the sand shifts and transforms, thickening under his toes. Frowning, he looks down at the new texture. No longer grainy and warm, this new mixture, whatever it is, is cooler and firmer, his feet imprinting perfectly with each step forward.

The distinct smell increases and a slight breeze picks up, rustling his clothing and hair. Looking straight ahead he finds himself gaping at the sight. He thinks the word automatically, as if he’s always known.

Ocean.

Vast and broad and dark. And salty. That’s the smell he sensed. The sea air, unmistakable and nostalgic. He moves forward, until his feet are lapped by the soft current, cool water ghosting over his naked feet before moving back out to sea.

Looking to his left and right, he finds himself at the edge of the world, or so it seems. Just ocean and damp sand around him. He looks to Castiel, seemingly unmoved by the new destination. Dean sighs, realizing something is missing. Something not quite right about his view.

He takes a few steps back and sits down in the pliable sand. He watches the water lazily roll and ebb, enjoying the salty breeze. It takes him a minute, but when he realizes it, he wonders how he never noticed it before.

Something missing. He looks up.

“The sky. Where’s the sky?” He looks to Castiel. How did he not notice the blackness around him the whole time? The void…

A small smile sits on Castiel’s face, warm and comforting and when Dean turns back, the scene is complete. He has to squint to stare up but there it is, in all its glory.

The bluest sky Dean can ever remember. Complete with a hazy sun, surrounded by puffs of cloud. He shuts his eyes in bliss and lays back on the sand, his body warm and relaxed. 

When he opens his eyes, Castiel is sitting by his side. He freezes at the sudden intrusion but is even more alarmed by the fact that Castiel is so very close to him, and looks entirely human-like in his posture and expression.

Trying not to look so obvious but clearly failing, Dean inspects the angel. He’s even more stunning up close, despite the fact that he looks nothing like what he imagines an angel should look.

He licks his lips, breath shuddering. “Did you do all this, Castiel?”

Clear, deep blue eyes turn to him now, more intense than the churning waters of his newly found ocean and more vivid than the perfect sky above him. He suddenly can’t remember the question he just asked.

“No, Dean,” the raspy voice answers, full of melancholy and regret. “This is all you.”

Dean frowns, not really understanding. “How could I create an ocean? Or make it windy?”

“Where do you believe we are, Dean?”

Dean looks around him, thinking. “A beach. We’re at a beach, at the ocean.” Castiel nods in agreement. “And how did you come by that? How do you know what a beach is, if you can’t remember ever being to one?”

Dean’s heart stutters. “Are you saying I’m making all this up?”

Castiel looks away, forlorn, eyes fixed ahead on the water. “Cas, please.”

The angel turns to him, a curious gaze flitting across his pristine face, his head cocking slightly. Dean shifts. “What?”

“You called me Cas.”

Dean blinks. “Huh, guess I did. Is that okay? I didn’t mean to offend you.”

A ghost of a smile, another regretful stare. “There was a time when you didn’t care about offending anyone or anything. Least of all me. And yes, Cas is fine.”

Dean’s eyes flicker over Castiel’s face, looking for clues, for hints, for anything. “There was another time? Before this?”

“Of course.”

“Why can’t I remember it?”

“If you are meant to remember, you shall. Look at all you’ve done already, Dean. This is truly magnificent.”

Dean doesn’t feel like he’s accomplished anything. Sand and sea do not a person make. He wants more. He needs more. And Cas is the key.

“Please, tell me.”

Cas looks at him reproachfully, and yet he seems reluctant to let Dean wallow in his misery. “Dean, it would be beyond unwise. You might not be ready to hear what you think you need to.”

“Maybe you can let me be the judge of that.”

Cas purses his lips, eyes flickering over Dean’s face fondly. “What do you remember?”

Dean sighs. “Nothing. There was nothing but darkness and then there was light. You. I remembered my name and then Sam. There are flashes sometimes, blurs. Like something bad happened, but I don’t know what. Then I remembered your name. I still don’t know why I have an angel attached to me.”

Castiel looks on mournfully. “Dean...there is much you don’t remember. You asked where we were? This is no physical space. All this around you that you see...It doesn’t exist. You’ve created all this, Dean, because we are inside your mind.”

Dean lets that sink in, a giant pit opening in his stomach. It sounds all wrong, ridiculous, but deep down he knows Cas is right. It explains so much. He looks at the false sea, churning, waves crashing meticulously, his fingers make clay of the wet sand. All fake. Imagined.

“What happened to me? I get it was something pretty bad. But, I need to know. I’m gonna go crazy not knowing.”

At first, Dean fears Cas will ignore his pleas and leave, but after a moment of silence, Castiel starts to speak.

“There was a battle, something inconceivable and horrible. Can you remember the word Apocalypse?”

Something spikes inside Dean and the warmth of the sun leaves him. “The end of the world?”

“Yes. All because of a sibling feud. Angel versus the devil himself. Michael and Lucifer. But they can’t exist in the human plane without a vessel. A human vessel. And you, Dean, were chosen from birth to be Michael’s vessel. Preordained, predestined, whatever and however you want to see it, that’s what you were.” He cuts off and Dean can’t stand the sadness radiating from Castiel, almost as if it is slowly seeping into Dean.

He licks his lips, hands trembling. “Okay, and what, this angel--Michael-- somehow ended up inside me and used me to fight this...war?”

“Yes. But an angel can’t simply take over a vessel. Not without express permission.”

“And I gave it? Just like that?” Even now it doesn’t seem likely. Why would he agree to fight the devil? As if Castiel can read his thoughts, he fills Dean in further.

“It was a decision you were not prepared to make, nor ever intended, but in the end, you decided it was the only thing you could do.”

“Why?”

A sigh. “Because of Sam.”

That name again. Still a giant blur. He shakes his head at Cas. “And Sam is...?”

“Your brother.”

Dean stares, breath suspended even as everything around him ceases to exist. The waves don’t crash and swirl, the wind is utterly still. Even Cas looks like a statue.

“I have a brother?”

Castiel looks down, his ethereal glow diminishing. “Had. He didn’t make it, Dean.”

A great gash opens up inside Dean’s chest, bleeding, destroying him from the inside out. And still he can’t see his face. Sam’s face. Grief, for it can be nothing else, strikes him down, eyes filling, vision blurring.

“What happened to him? How did he die?”

“Dean-”

“Cas. Tell me. How did I lose my brother?” he chokes out.

Castiel looks straight at him, eyes dead. “You killed him, Dean. He died by your hand.”

He’s shaking his head before the words flow free. Over and over. No. No. No. Fingers rake angrily through his hair, jaw clenching painfully. Cas stays silent, watching helplessly.

“Why? Why would I kill my own brother?” Dean manages, voice wet and destroyed. He reaches out and grabs Cas by his coat, forcing him closer. “Why!”

Calmly, Cas reaches up and brings his hand to Dean’s, gently prying his fingers off. “Because your brother was Lucifer’s vessel. You weren’t going to allow Michael to destroy him and you refused to sit by and do nothing. So, you said yes to Michael and you set out to find Lucifer. You thought you could reason with him, with Sam, but Lucifer was too strong. And you never anticipated the force that is Michael. He cast you so far inside yourself you probably don’t have any actual memory of the battle, and possibly never will. He decimated you, Dean.

“When he was through with Lucifer, and millions of lives were lost, his job was finished and he released you, returning to Heaven.” For the first time, Dean senses anger from the angel, powerful, intimidating. Castiel doesn’t register Dean’s sudden tensing. He snarls, eyes faraway. “He left you, Dean. Just like that. He left you little more than an empty corpse, still drawing breath, but unaware of anything that had occurred. A living vegetable, as you humans are so fond of saying.”

Dean doesn’t even know what to say. He chooses to stay silent, because he wants Cas to tell him everything, even if it hurts too damn much.

“I found you shortly after. I took you someplace safe, away from the destruction and chaos, from the terrible screaming and the other angels attempting to make sense of the trauma all around us. It was nothing like they envisioned it would be. No glory. No paradise. Just death and smoke and Lucifer flung back to the bottomless pit he belongs in.” He heaves a heavy sigh, deflated, defeated.

“Cas,” Dean finally finds the strength to ask, “are you in my mind?”

Castiel looks at Dean almost fondly. “Of course. I had to come, you see. I had to see for myself, if there was...anything left.”

Dean blinks. “You brought me back.” Cas shakes his head. “No, Dean. You brought yourself back. Look at how far you’ve come. I was so afraid, especially at first. You were so confused and lost.”

Dean remembers his awful beginning. He didn’t think it so bad before, but now he shudders to think of how he was. “I was lost. It was dark and then you came and brought me light.” He looks down because he hadn’t meant for that to come out so cheesy, but it’s absolutely true. No matter what Cas says, it’s because of him he was able to escape from the desolation and to where he is today.

“I wasn’t going to leave you, Dean. But I was terrified of approaching you because I wasn’t sure how you would take to me. I wasn’t sure what you remembered, or knew or if you had any senses left to you. But as usual, you ended up surprising me. You’ve surpassed anything I could have imagined,” he finishes with a radiant smile that makes Dean’s stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with despair or fear.

“So where am I now?” Dean asks in a low voice.

“I took your body and fled as far away from the battle zone as I could take you. It is so desolate here, there are less than thirty people inhabiting the island.”

“Island? Is that why I’m envisioning all this sand and water?”

“Perhaps. But mostly I was thinking of something familiar to surround you with. I believe you used to enjoy fishing, so I wanted to take you someplace that reminded you of that. There was no place safe or untouched I could trust you in within the US, so I had to take you almost to the other side of the world. I hope you don’t mind.”

Dean looks back out to the water, his mind in turmoil from all the information. He licks his lips. “Is-- is my brother…” He can’t even finish the sentence, not sure where he was even going with that.

“Your brother’s soul was ripped from his body the moment Lucifer was vanquished and was taken by Heaven. I promise you he is safe and at peace.”

The comfort is minimal but appreciated. He nods his thanks. “I wish I could remember him. Remember all of it. But I might lose it again if I did. I mean, I’m freaking responsible for the end of the world.”

“Dean--”

“No, it’s true. Even if I don’t remember. Even if Michael rendered me dumb and deaf, it was still my fault. I said yes to him.”

“You did it to save your brother.”

“Yeah,” scoffs Dean bitterly, “and a fine job I did of that. I got him killed and I destroyed the world. Why am I still alive? I shouldn’t exist right now. Maybe this is my punishment, this hell I’m in. This limbo. It’s not living, it’s all in my head. I don’t deserve to breathe real air again.”

“Don’t say that, Dean.”

“How could you even look at me, Cas? I mean, I destroyed everything. Why are you still here with me and not back home in Heaven?”

“Because you told me once you were my family. You took me in when my own betrayed and abandoned me. I could never leave you, Dean. Never. Unless you cast me out, I’m not going anywhere until you are well again.”

Dean doesn’t understand it, but he does know one thing. He desperately wants Cas to stay.

“Don’t go,” Dean says with a hint of question to his tone. Cas scoots a bit closer.

***

“Will I ever wake up?”

They are on a sandy hill, overlooking the ocean, wind still whipping madly around them, though neither of them are affected by its wrath. Castiel’s gaze is on him, even though Dean’s eyes stay stubbornly glued to the blue water.

“I don’t know. You’re body has been healed of all injury, but I can’t fix what’s been done up here,” he indicates to Dean’s head. “Only you can fix that.”

“What if it’s not fixable? What if all that I am, is this? Just locked inside my own head for all time, as my body ages and withers.”

“It won’t come to that, Dean.”

Dean reads more into that than he probably should, but he nods in understanding and gratitude. “Don’t let me fade to nothing, Cas.”

“Never.”

***

He never sleeps but sometimes he lies down and shuts his eyes, hoping for...something. A spark of recognition, a memory, anything. Now that Cas has filled him in, he feels like it should come easier for him. It turns out not to be the case. There are snatches of imagery, of past memories, there and gone again in a blink. Nothing that he can hold on to.

Castiel senses his frustration, but says nothing, keeping his distance when he knows Dean wishes for time alone to think. Frankly, Dean prefers Cas to always stay by his side but finds his presence often distracting, though he doesn’t know why. It just adds to the many things he doesn’t know.

***

He removes his clothing, leaving only his boxers. The air is always warm, despite the constant breeze. He toes into the water gingerly at first, but realizes it’s silly to fear something he’s essentially created with his mind, so he dives right in, loving the way the cool water shocks his core. He can also swim, he soon finds out, but he doesn’t dare try anything too drastic. Mostly, he enjoys floating on his back, letting the hazy sun lull him into serenity.

When he climbs back onto the beach, Castiel is there waiting for him, face a pensive mask.

“What’s wrong?”

The angel shifts on his feet, a rare sign of distress. “The world is not faring well, I’m afraid. Mass hysteria has spread, even to areas originally unaffected. It’s...bad. And most of the angels have abandoned earth to its plight.”

Dean’s heart clenches automatically, thinking about the devastation. He doesn’t repeat that it’s all because of him, because Cas would only berate him again. He sighs instead, plopping down on the sand, droplets of water cascading off him.

“I wish I could help.”

“Dean, even if you were able to, there’s nothing you could do. You have no idea what’s been happening all over. One man alone can’t fix this.”

“Used to be enough. Just Sam and me. And then you came. Team Free Will, remember?” he huffs a laugh.

Cas jerks his head, sharp eyes piercing through Dean, who turns at the sudden movement, confusion spreading across his face. “What? What’s the matter?”

“Where did you hear that term?”

“What?”

“Team Free Will. How did you come by that?”

Dean blinks for a second, mind going back over his previous words. “Dunno, I just…” His eyes go wide at the startling revelation. “I remembered it,” he whispers in awe. “Clear as day, boom! It was just there, in my head.”

Cas has a wary but pleased expression on his face. Dean can’t help his grin. “I remembered something! And it was important, wasn’t it? Something that was only between us? Team Free Will,” he repeats the words like a prayer, shaking his head in fondness.

“Yes, Dean, you named us that. And you were right, us three were enough to prevent a lot of bad. We accomplished much, together. And I’d give anything to return to that. But this is,” he sighs, “completely above either of us.”

They sit in silence, nothing but the water crashing around them.

***

There are moments when Dean pretends nothing bad has happened. His head hurts so much from trying to remember, he’s decided he doesn’t want to spend his existence constantly searching for answers. For a while, it was all he wanted. But now, as he glances at Castiel, dark hair whipping fiercely by the constant breeze, he finds himself enjoying the here and now. Just for a moment, he wants to go back to when he was oblivious.

He does make Cas tell him things, though. Past memories, experiences. The angel is always hesitant, until he realizes it actually makes Dean happy. Then, he obliges him willingly.

“I don’t really recall a time when you weren’t in some kind of trouble. I couldn’t always be there for you but I heard you nonetheless. I heard you in Heaven, even when you weren’t praying.” He looks sad when he recalls these memories and Dean feels bad, hating the expression on the angel’s face.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Cas. For everything. For before. For sticking with me now.” He swipes a hand through his hair, oddly embarrassed suddenly. He shoots a bemused smirk at Cas.

Bright blue eyes catch his, pushing him off kilter. He can’t look away, despite the fact that he’s blatantly staring. It’s Castiel that breaks the contact, casting his eyes down to the sand. He scoops some up, letting it flow between his fingers.

“You don’t have to thank me, Dean. You are my friend, and you have saved me more times than I can count. You made me see the error of my ways, the ways of my kind. I can’t ever repay that.”

The words tear into Dean, settling into his mind pleasantly. “I wish I could remember.” A crease mars his brow and though he’s grateful for everything Cas has told him, it’s just not the same as envisioning it with his own mind. Cas seems to understand, as he lays a warm hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean blinks, as the angel hardly ever physically touches him and the simple gesture brings a warm flush to his face.

The hand is long gone but the flashes come without warning. The same familiar touch, but a different time, a different place. A hand fisting around his shirt, a hard shove against an even harder wall, and angry dark eyes boring into his, brimming with resentment and rage. There are other memories, flashing bright and fast, but he’s seen enough to realise how close he actually was to Cas.

He doesn’t tell Castiel he remembers. For now, he wants to keep that to himself.

***

He swims a lot. It gives him something to do besides walking or sitting or secretly watching Cas when the angel is distracted. Plus the physical activity makes him feel better. It takes his mind away from the constant ache of trying to remember and lulls it into tranquility with every stroke of his arm or deep breath he takes.

He also finds that when he swims, his memories actually return, albeit briefly. Once he clears his mind and concentrates on the water and moving his arms and legs fluidly, flawlessly, he’ll get a glimpse of an image, a memory recovered. It usually has something to do with Castiel or some vague creature, or more angels. He is glad he is recovering, but strangely, it doesn’t feel like progress.

“Why can’t I remember Sam?”

Solemn eyes watch him in question. Dean sighs. “I’ve remembered things. You, mostly, and other moments from my past. Even some from the battle. But I can’t get anything of Sam. I can’t even see his face.”

“Perhaps you are repressing those memories on purpose, even though you might not be aware of it.” Cas speaks as if it’s something he’s already considered. Dean looks at him blankly.

“Why would I not want to remember my own brother?”

“You know why. Everything that happened. Not just his death but the manner in which it occurred. It’s not a surprise you can’t remember him, Dean. And you won’t be able to, not until you reconcile your emotions about it and realise that it had nothing to do with you and him but with Michael and Lucifer.”

Dean looks away, swallowing deeply. “Have you had to kill your own brother before?”

“Yes,” Cas says, and Dean’s head flashes back at the dark tone. Castiel’s eyes are no longer vivid and blue but stormy and tormented, his mouth firm and grim. “I’ve murdered my brothers and sisters. My family that I’ve known since the beginning of time. Dead at my own hands. I can say that I had cause but it hurts just the same. Nothing can change that.”

Dean wants to reach out but doesn’t dare move. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t realize…”

Castiel cocks his head slightly, eyes wavering on Dean’s dejected form. “I’ve come to peace with it. But it is not my intention to compare my grief to yours, Dean. Sam was...irreplaceable to you. Your constant...everything. There may never be an end to your mourning. And I cannot tell you what is appropriate when it comes to forgiving oneself for one’s actions. Lucifer destroyed me, Dean. In the blink of an eye, I was dead.” Dean’s eyes snap to Cas. “Sam, as Lucifer’s vessel was the face of the being who ended me. But when I look back, I don’t see your brother that way. That wasn’t him. It wasn’t him, Dean.”

Dean chokes back a reply. His vision is blurry as he raptly listens to Cas’ tale. “I know you would never lay a hand on your brother. Even if you cannot remember, trust me when I say that he was everything to you and you would have died to protect him. There was nothing you could do, Dean. Michael and Lucifer were just too strong.”

“How are you here, then? If you were killed?”

The smallest of shrugs passes through Castiel’s body. “I imagine it was God that resurrected me. And it wasn’t the first time, either. I didn’t know at the time why he chose to save me again. Now I think I do. He saved me to save you.”

***

As much as he loves the beach, he’s starting to tire of its sameness. There isn’t much to do except for swim and ponder his bleak situation.

“If you want out of here you just have to imagine it, Dean.”

But no matter how hard he tries, he never leaves the beach. “Oh god, I’m trapped here forever.” He sits, dejected and drained. He casts pleading eyes at Cas, who’s been watching him fail from a distance. “Help me, Cas.”

“I can’t, Dean. This is your mind. I can’t manipulate it.”

Frustration quickly replaces despair and he gets to his feet, glaring at the angel. “Then what’s the point of you? Why are you even here if you can’t help me?” He nearly flinches at the flash of hurt that crosses Cas’ face, but he’s too worked up to stop now. “You follow me and lurk in the background and watch me like some creeper and none of that is helping me get out of here! What kind of angel are you?”

Light flares, brighter than the sun above them and Dean shields his eyes from the massive rays. Castiel is upon him suddenly, wings spread out to their full impossible length and the unassuming visage he’s perfected is gone, replaced by something terrifying and damning.

“I have done more for you than anybody has ever dared. I saved your life when Michael left you in a bloodied heap. He cared not for you. His one true vessel and he discarded you like trash. It was I who found you and brought you to safety and forsaked my entire family to stay with you. To protect you and nurture you back to health. You cannot even begin to fathom the lengths to which I have gone for you, Dean Winchester. That is what kind of angel I am.”

The angel’s invisible hold on Dean releases and he plummets to the sand, out of breath, heart slamming inside his chest. When he dares to look up, Cas is gone. He looks around but the light that’s been his constant saving grace is gone. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

Cas left him. He’s all alone.

It’s unthinkable and yet, here he is. He wants to cry but he’s still too much in shock. A small, traitorous part of his brain tells him he’s brought this upon himself. If he’d just kept his damn mouth shut… He rakes a shaking hand through his hair, anguish filling his lungs until he’s sure he’s going to die a slow, horrible death.

“Cas!” he tries, panic in his voice. And suddenly, the warm, comforting beach is not quite so bright and cheery anymore. Clouds gather above him and the sapphire water turns black as night, churning, choppy with menace. The wind picks up too, brisk and brutal. Dean gets to his feet, rubbing at his exposed arms.

“Calm down,” he tells himself. “It’s all in your head. You’re doing this.” But even though he knows all this, it does nothing to alleviate his despair. Castiel is gone and it’s all his fault.

***

He watches the dark sky, the gray a perfect accent to his own somber mood. He’s not sure how long he sits there, just staring at nothing, silently praying for Cas to come back. He misses the angel and the comforting light he brings. It was the first thing he ever saw in this bleak existence and now he has nothing to ground himself.

After what feels like hours of silent pleading, he gets up and morosely walks away. The sounds of the ocean fade away until he’s back on solid ground. Dirt and grass greet him and he shuffles lazily across the expanse of land, the clouds hanging above him. His whole body aches, which he knows is impossible, since this is all in his head, but he feels it, tearing him down, step by step.

He suddenly fears oblivion. Being left alone to rot inside his own mind. It was easier with Cas here. At least he had someone to talk to. Bone-achingly tired, he drops down to the earth, knees up to his chest. He lowers his head till it rests up against his knees and shuts his eyes. He feels like he could actually fall asleep. It suddenly sounds like the best idea in the world.

Before he can allow himself to drift off, a whoosh of air and a familiar flap of wings sound nearby. Head snapping up he wrenches his eyes open to the sight of blinding light, and a familiar trench coat. A choked sound escapes past his throat and he’s up on his feet in a flash, crashing into Castiel with full force. He grasps onto whatever he can to anchor himself, breathing ragged and irregular.

“You came back. You came back…”

Strong arms circle around him, cocooning him in warmth and safety. He droops against the figure, not daring to let go.

“Of course I came back. I was gone for only a few moments. I was called away to Heaven but--” Cas trails off after he realizes the state Dean’s in. He grips the man’s shoulders and gently moves him backwards. “What’s wrong, Dean? What is it?”

“You were gone for so long, I thought...I thought you’d left me. And it was all my fault cause I can’t keep my damn mouth shut. You left me and--” He is crushed back against Castiel’s chest, fingers pressing into his back possessively.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise it would seem that way. Time is immeasurable in your mind and I’m sure it seemed like a long time. I’m sorry,” he repeats, allowing his fingers to gently graze through Dean’s hair.

“I don’t want you to go, Cas. I didn’t mean what I said.” Dean can’t meet Cas’ face. It’s too much. The angel doesn’t seem to mind, his fingers never stopping their ministrations.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean. I promise. We will fix this, Dean, I swear.” Dean feels warm breath against his ear, the words soothing and calming. He relaxes slightly, mortification taking over his previous panic.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean breathes against the angel’s neck. Despite his lack of memory, he is absolutely certain he’s never been this close to Castiel. He would have remembered. This feeling is not just something you forget. The feeling of absolute bliss. He shifts away from the warm touch, eyes fluttering open to meet concerned ones.

“Sorry I panicked. Of course my mind would make it seem like a lifetime. I know you’d never leave.” This close, he can make out every detail on Castiel’s face. The million hues of blue in his eyes, the long, dark lashes fanning across his cheeks. He mentally frowns at why he is even concerning himself with all these...observations. But he finds he doesn’t care. He’s too content to care.

Castiel steps away, wings folded somehow behind him. He looks Dean up and down, perhaps making sure he isn’t going to collapse at his feet. Then he reaches out, and Dean grabs his hand, and everything, for the moment, is okay.

***

“How is my body surviving without food or water?”

They’re seated side by side, nearly touching shoulders when Dean brings up the question he’s been wondering about. Castiel picks at blades of grass quietly.

“I’ve got it under control. For now, you’re safe.”

Dean frowns. “How long have I been unconscious?” Castiel is clearly hesitant to answer. Dean bumps his shoulder against the angel’s. A long sigh is finally uttered.

“Almost a year.”

Dean goes cold. “Oh my god.” Cas looks away towards the endless horizon and for the first time Dean realizes what sort of toll this is taking on his friend. He’s had to sustain Dean and watch him and guard him against anything and everything and now he’s here with him trying to steer Dean back into awareness. He swallows thickly.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this, Cas. This isn’t your responsibility and--”

“Dean, stop. I’ve already told you, you are not a burden. You are my friend and I want to help you.” Determined eyes stare down Dean until the man nods slowly and looks away from the hypnotic orbs. He’s glad to have Cas here. He knows he’d have been dead a while ago if he didn’t have the angel around. He scoots closer until there’s no space between them now, and rests his head against Castiel’s shoulder.

***

Time passes without notice, but Dean doesn’t mind so much with Castiel by his side, wandering patiently through the landscape of Dean’s mind. Until one day when Dean turns around and Castiel seems miles away. He frowns and starts forward towards the angel but Castiel retreats further.

“Cas? What’s going on?”

The voice, when it comes, seems much closer than the figure. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m afraid I’ve only deterred you. My influence on you has been negative, I see that now.”

“What are you talking about, Cas? I thought we were friends. How could you be a bad influence?” He detects a slight hint of panic in his tone but he stares across the vast emptiness at the lone figure, wings sad and dull, and tries to reason with the angel.

“You’re regressing, Dean. You need to try harder and my presence isn’t helping. I’ll watch over you but I think it’s best if we don’t interact until you’ve regained more memory.”

Dean is angry now, livid. Castiel is essentially leaving him alone to conquer his own mind. Doesn’t he understand that he needs him? That the only reason he’s still sane is because of him?

“Damn it, Cas! Don’t do this! I can’t do this alone…”

But the voice is silent and despite the familiar glow constantly emitting from the angel, Dean feels deserted. He clenches his fists and turns away, walking as fast as he can.

***

Seething, he walks, a dark storm brewing over his head. His stamina is endless, the miles he tromps through the pathways of his own mind, ceaseless. He doesn’t dare gaze back to look for Castiel because he knows it’ll be a mistake.

Wet, fat raindrops fall from the dark sky, soaking Dean within minutes. He actually feels cold as his drenched clothing sticks to his body like cellophane. The terrain slowly changes without him realizing it, the soft long grass giving way to sharp, craggily stones and dead branches. He trips a few times, undeterred, despite no destination in mind.

Just as a crack of lightning blinds his vision, so does a sudden spark of memory. He’s familiar now with the feel of battle, the flapping of massive, invisible wings at his back, the red, soaking blood splattering. He’s seen it all before in bits and pieces. Just a giant blur. But now he actually gets a sense of who he was supposed to be fighting.

And it’s not some horrible spectre or a deformed version of what he thinks Lucifer should look like. No, it’s nothing but a man. A young man with long hair and a massive presence, whose eyes are not his own. They are haunted and transformed, nothing like what Dean remembers. And he does remember. As soon as he sees this man’s face…

He’s down on the ground, his head spitting in two. Sam… It’s all there now, the battle, the outcome, the horrible, painful feeling of getting his mind torn apart as the archangel Michael violently departs his body, job done.

Castiel is suddenly there on his knees, in front of Dean, firmly grabbing a hold of Dean’s wrists. His face is so close, eyes dark and fierce, dark hair plastered to his forehead. Dean’s head is killing him and all he wants to do is pass out but the angel in front of him won’t let him. He shakes him into awareness.

“ _Remember,_ Dean! It’s in here, don’t be afraid of it!” His grip is painfully tight but Dean is strangely reassured, and once again the images come, one after another, not just the battle this time, but of things past gone. His brother, Sammy, and Cas and Bobby and Baby, his beautiful car and hunt after hunt and the darkness, selling his soul for Sam’s life and the crushing impossibility of returning from Hell and all because of this angel in front of him. He groans as his head feels like it’s splitting open and soon not even Cas can keep him upright.

And then...nothing.

***

Someone is holding his head, warm, gentle fingers threading through his hair and it feels so nice, he doesn’t want to open his eyes. Everything hurts. Truly hurts, and he can’t stop the whimper from passing his lips. He tries to move his head but even the minuscule movement sends a jolt of pain down his spine, right to his toes. This time the moan is much louder.

“Sshhh, you’re fine now, Dean. You’re going to be fine.”

The voice is calming and he relaxes with every breath, until the pain is manageable--if he lays perfectly still.

“Cas?” Because who else would it be? Holding him, protecting him. His savior.

“Yes, Dean. I’m here. It’s going to be alright now. You did so well.” The fingers continue their soft motions, running along Dean’s scalp deliciously.

“Why does everything hurt, Cas?” His voice is almost completely hoarse, his throat parched like nothing ever before. Every breath feels like his chest is caving in and he still doesn’t dare attempt movement.

“Because you haven’t felt your body in over a year, Dean.”

Dean frowns behind his closed lids, playing over the words. “Wha?” he mumbles drowsily. He hears a soft sigh but it might be a breath of laughter because the sound warms Dean like the sun never could.

“You did it, Dean. You made it back. I knew you would. I knew you, out of anyone, could do this. Open your eyes, Dean. Open them and look at the true world. The true sky above you, the real crashing of waves around you. Open your eyes, Dean.”

He is suddenly frightened. What if this is another trick of his mind? He’s been asleep so long, how is he to know what’s real and what’s not. And as if Cas could sense his reluctance, he leans in close to whisper.

“Trust me, Dean. Open your eyes.”

And he does trust Cas. How could he not, after everything?  

He opens his eyes.

_end._

 

 


End file.
